What I Left Behind
by jmanus707
Summary: A short story I wrote for an English assignment while reading the novel. Comments please.


What I left Behind

What are we fighting for? It's something I'd ask myself every day while we were out in the jungle. I'd tell myself that it wasn't for freedom, the flag, anybody back home, it wasn't any of those things. We were fighting for the men beside us in battle, our brothers-in-arms. After each battle, when we'd lay out the dead, I'd thank each and every one of them for giving their lives so that I could live and continue to fight and protect those around me.  
Vietnam was a terrible place. If the enemy didn't get you, the jungle would. Every splinter in your finger, every pebble in your shoe. If you weren't careful, you were dead. There were certain things that got to you though. Some people couldn't handle the stress, others lost their minds, said that they could hear voices; in the trees, the bushes, and even in the ground. I don't know, I never did. They're all dead now anyway.  
For some reason I was allowed to live. Everybody around me fell, all except for me. To this day I don't know why, but I will tell you our story, their sacrifice. I will not let their memory die with me. And when I get to heaven, to St. Peter I will tell; Corporal Andrew Miller reporting for duty, sir. I've served my time in hell.  
I was born in a small town in rural California. My father was a major in the Marine Corps during World War II and my mother was a nurse in the Navy. He was wounded on Iwo Jima, that's how they met. I always knew that there was more to life than a small farm in the middle of nowhere. So I did the most sensible thing I could, in 1967 I enlisted in the Army.  
My first combat experience was in Hue City during the Tet Offensive. Myself and my buddies, Allen, Peter, and Jeff 'Joker' Shaw, all brothers, were trapped on the outskirts of the city. They'd been with me since boot camp. We were all fresh faced and clean, not ready for actual combat. What do we fight for? We fight for each other.  
"Get down!" Joker yelled at Peter as he pulled him behind cover.

Bullets whizzed and ricocheted through the air while hand grenades exploded nearby. Huey helicopters flew in and out of the city. The distinctive whomp, whomp, whomp, whomp of the rotor blades cut through the cacophony of gunfire.  
"Allen, where are we on that air support?" I shouted.  
"There's an armed Huey on its way!"  
Joker heard a crunch behind him and swung his M-16 around, firing at an NVA soldier that had tried to flank, killing him instantly. Joker stared at the lifeless body that landed in front of him. There was a loud thwack! I looked at Joker, his face was expressionless, his arms dangled by his side. Joker fell forward, there was a bloody hole in his back. He had been shot. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. Jeff's body hit with a slow thud. Both Allen and Peter turned and were motionless as he gasped for air. At that moment the whole world seemed to stop. Shell casings never hit the ground and bullets froze in mid-flight. Everything just stopped. Jeff was my first friend to ever die in front of me. Allen and Peter jumped on his body and tried to keep him awake, but to no avail. They tried their hardest not to cry, but through the smoke and haze I could see the tears. The chopper had arrived too late to save him. The miniguns buzzed as they let out a stream of bullets. Bzzzz, bzzzz. It was in that moment I heard it again. Thwack! It wasn't until moments later that I realized that it was the shot that killed Joker. I didn't know if it was the adrenaline or the fact that I didn't want to hear it, but after that I couldn't stop hearing it.  
"So much for the ceasefire," I mumbled as we loaded Jeff onto the chopper.  
For us the battle was over, but the struggle had just began.

…

The helicopter flight back to base camp was quiet.

"BOHICA guys," said the helicopter pilot. "Command wants you rerouted to assist the 23rd."

"With what?" I asked.

"Didn't say, sorry."

Peter threw his head back and sighed. Allen never looked up. Three days of fighting, just to go back into the jungle.

We assisted the 23rd Infantry Division for close to four months. Allen and Peter slowly came to terms with their brother's death and were eventually back to normal. We had fully integrated with Bravo company and were to commence search and clear operations in our AO as we moved to the Battle for Nui Hoac Ridge. I remember that day well because it was my firs close quarters kill. I saw every bloody detail of the mangled body. It was the 9th of May, 1968 and we had stumbled into an occupied group of hamlets.

Enemy fire came from all directions, we were pinned. It was like kicking a hornets nest, it was only a matter of time before somebody got stung. I could see muzzle flashes coming from the bushes. Green tracers wizzed by like lazers from a science fiction movie. The noise was unbearable, it came from all directions. The loud bangs became soft pops as my hearing degraded. Allen and Peter were separated from me when the fighting started.

I was scared, panicked, I didn't know what do. I froze. Unable to move I sat there and stared ahead. It was then that I saw the surrealistic beauty of the jungle. It was like a rose; beautiful to look at, but it would make you bleed if you slipped. I still don't know if it was the way the sunlight cut through the jungle mist or just how pristine the jungle was despite the carnage, but looking out at it seemed to call my nerves and allowed me to collect my thoughts.

The jungle paralyzed me. The greens and browns began to amplify as the sun beamed down on them. My moment of bliss was interrupted by several loud thwacks. The bullets were striking close to me and that's when it happened. A middle-aged man wearing black pants with tan sandals emerged from the thick foliage. He held his AK-47 tightly with both hands, he was obviously hostile. Everything that I did was entirely automatic, by instinct alone. I squeezed the trigger of my rifle as I swung it toward him. Pop, pop, pop, pop. Four shots came out. It felt like a child's toy, no recoil at all. The first round struck the ground, the second hit his foot. As he tumbled the third hit him in the chest and the fourth hit him in the jaw. His body tumbled forward and rolled to my feet. The fourth bullet ripped through the bottom left of his jaw, destroying teeth and bone. Blood poured out of his mouth as air escaped from the hole in his chest. I looked in horror and disgust at the bloody and mangled body that lay in front of me. My heart stopped when the bloodshot eyes turned to look at me, he was still alive. He slowly reached for his gun. I pointed my rifle back toward him and squeezed the trigger, but didn't let go until it was empty. Round after round tore through his pale flesh.

I began to shiver as if it were snowing. It felt as cold as a winters morning even though the sun was out and it was warm. Then I started to get hot, my skin turned bright red as I threw up. War was hell, yet at the same time, war was beautiful. I leaned back against a tree and looked around, the colors were more vibrant and all of my worries and fears began to disappear as I lost consciousness.

…

Sometime after the firefight was over, I was violently shaken awake by Allen.

"What the hell man?" he said. "Who falls asleep in an active combat zone?"

"I didn't fall asleep, I passed out or somethin'," I forced a breath.

"They were about to declare you KIA you had so much blood on ya," Peter was standing next to Allen.

I looked down in pure disgust, I was covered in the man's blood.

"Sure did a number on him, eh?" Peter pointed at the man's body.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I guess we should get moving."

Peter helped me get back on my feet, but my legs were so weak that I almost fell over. We made it back to our makeshift basecamp, a bunch of sandbags and a few tarps, for some temporary R&R before we were sent on another mission. The first place I went was a large flat spot under a tree, I forgot about the blood. Peter tossed a fresh pair of fatigues at my feet. The clean fabric was like being touched by a divine light.

"So how 'bout a game of cards?" Allen asked, shuffling the deck in his hands.

"Every time we've played you guys have cheated," I stated.

"Promise we won't," Allen crossed his heart. "Isn't that right Peter?"

"Hm, yeah sure," Peter wasn't paying attention.

We walked to the round table which was already set up. It had a green felt surface that was partially torn on the edge. There were white chalk outlines for cards on it with three bamboo chairs.

"I'm guessing we're the only ones playing," I said.

"You're the only one who wanted to," Allen said. "Everybody else thinks we cheat for some reason."

"The game's five card hold'em, winner take all," announced Peter.

right off the bat, three of a kind sixes.

"Hey, you guys remember when we all scared the crap out of those freshmen? It was our junior year. Jeff was there, it was his idea. He always had the best ideas," said Peter.

There was a long pause of just silence before I interjected.

"Yeah, yeah I remember. We followed them to the old Abernathy barn."

"Yeah, there was a few times I thought we were going to get caught," Allen joined the conversation. "That was the last thing we all did together before Jeff left for the Army."

"I remember banging on a sheet of metal and, and as they ran out Jeff jumped out in front of them wearing a halloween mask. I swear one of them pissed themselves," I added.

As the game continued, we all remembered stories from the past. Peter pointed out that the first time I'd ever kissed a girl was in our senior year and she'd thought I was somebody else. It's the little things you know. At least we got to take our minds off the war for a bit.

"I'm getting kinda tired, I fold," I got up and threw my cards on the table, a royal flush, they'd never know it though.

…

That night was clear. You could see all of the stars, all as bright as the moon itself. There was no fog, no mist, no bugs. It was an unusual night for Vietnam. A cool breeze wafted through the camp, enticing one to sleep.

My eyes were heavy and my body was limp. The previous firefight had drained all of my energy. My thought wandered to the brightest and darkest corners of my mind. The trees began to dance as the breeze picked up. I was finally able to close my eyes in peace.

I was jolted awake by the sound of gunfire. I wasn't in my bed, I wasn't even in the camp. I was lying in a shallow stream that ran crimson with blood. I began to panic as I looked around and couldn't see anybody.

"Hello!" I shouted. "Is anybody there?"

No answer, just a faint echo.

I looked around some more and was startled by what I saw. Jeff was standing next to the bloody stream. Peter and Allen were standing next to him.

"What?" I said in disbelief.

Their faces were expressionless, they were covered in blood. On the other side of the bloody stream were my parents. My mother had her arms reaching forward.

"Please come home, Andrew," she said.

"No," I said in disbelief. "No."

The bloody stream began to get deeper, the bloody water washed over my face as the current got faster. Both Jeff and my mother wanted me to go with them. A pain radiated through my chest to my whole body. The world around me began to cave in. Thick fog began to engulf the stream.

I jumped awake in a cold sweat, my breathing was heavy and my heart was racing. I looked around, everything was the same as it was before I fell asleep. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. I couldn't believe what I had just experienced. I would have the same dream, nightmare, for the next few nights.

War was beautiful. It had great power. War could bring out the best in people. It brought out that subconscious connection that only families had. At the same time, war was terrible. It could take the strongest of men and turn them into empty mindless husks. It was all just a matter of a person's will to survive.

…

May 14, 1968, the battle to take Nui Hoac Ridge. That was the day that changed my life forever. We were on the right flank of the attacking forces moving southward up along the ridge. At 1550 hours we started to take mortar fire. The firestorm of explosions was like having gun fire into your ear.

This time there was no jungle. It was open, kinda like a dry grassland. There were trees and shrubs, a lot of tan grass. We found what cover we could and endured the mortar fire. Dirt and debris rained down on us while shockwaves pounded our bodies.

"They're charging!" a soldier shouted.

The enemy soldiers began to charge down the hill straight toward us.

"Open fire!" the CO ordered.

The machine gunners opened fire first, followed by the riflemen. The air became thick with smoke and dust. The enemy began to fall and hit the ground like the brass from our guns.

Explosions erupted from both sides as grenades and mortars were lobbed back and forth. The stress was unbearable, I was about to break. I couldn't hear anything because of the noise. I couldn't see anything because I got dirt and mud in my eyes. The sun was sweltering and a bullet had grazed my helmet, I lost it.

"Hey, Andrew!" Peter shouted. "You alright?"

Peter began to make his way to my position. I was just able to see his blurry silhouette as a mortar round landed just a foot away from him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing left, just a fine red mist. Peter was dead.

"No!" I cried out.

A surge of emotion took over my body.

"No!" I cried out once more.

Without thinking, I picked up my rifle and fired blindly at the enemy soldiers. Blood and sweat hid my tears. Without warning I felt a powerful thud hit my shoulder as a loud explosion went off behind my. Darkness consumed my world.

…

I awoke several minutes later with a burning sensation in my shoulder. A medic was bandaging it.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Shrapnel would, you'll be fine."

The battle still raged on, the end wasn't in sight.

"Peter," I said to myself. "Why?"

My shoulder felt like it was on fire. I spotted a shallow hole in the ground from a mortar and took cover in it. Bullets whizzed and popped above my head like firecrackers. Still, I couldn't hold myself together. I looked up at the blue sky and wondered how it all came to this.

I began to lose hope, but that's when Allen slid into the crater with me.

"Have you seen Peter?" he asked. "Can't find him anywhere."

"No, I haven't," I said slowly, without expression.

I lied, I don't know why. Maybe it was to protect him. Maybe it was to protect myself, from the truth.

"Maybe I'll go look somewhere else."

When Allen left I heard a terrible sound. It was fabric tearing, followed by a gurgle. I popped my head up and found that Allen was being stabbed to death by an enemy soldier.

"No!" I cried out. I jumped out of the hole and charged the soldier, tackling him to the ground. I punched him twice in the side of the head, then delivered a brutal headbut. As he was stunned I pulled out my bayonet and thrust it downward. He tried to stop it, the blade slid through the palm of his hand then slowly plunged into his eye. His frantic screams didn't phase me, I didn't stop until the crossgaurd was against his skull.

I jumped over toward Allen, blood was pouring out of his neck and chest. I tried to put pressure on the wounds, but it wouldn't stop the bleeding.

"Andrew, Andrew it's ok," he said softly.

"No it's not ok!" I cried. " I won't lose you too."

Allen let out a slow exhale as his head fell back. Now Allen was dead.

…

Here I was again. My head was burning with anger, like someone lit it on fire. There was sadness too. All of my friends were dead, the jungle had taken them. Swallowed them alive, then spit them out dead.

I got up to look around. For the most part the battle was over. There was the odd pop here and there. We had won. Bodies lay askew all over the place. The smell was terrible.

As I was walking past some of the bodies, one of them must have still been alive. I heard a shuffle on the ground, but before I could turn there were two loud pops. I felt as if I had been punched in the back. My legs collapsed and I rolled into a dry creek bed. Everything became blurry. My blood was running all over my back and legs.

I struggled to look around, I was becoming very weak. As I turned my head to one side of the creek bed, i saw three figures standing there.

"Couldn't be," I rubbed the dirt out of my eyes.

Standing at the edge of the creek were Allen, Peter, and Jeff. I couldn't believe my eyes, just like in my dream.

I looked over to the other side and saw my parents. My mother had her arms stretched outward.

"Please come home, Andrew," she said.

I looked over toward Jeff and his brothers.

"It's ok, Andrew," he said.

My chest began to hurt, the pain radiated through my body. My vision began to blur again. Darkness began to close in around me.

I awoke what must have been several days later in a military hospital. I grabbed the arm of a passing nurse.

"Where am I?" my voice was hoarse.

"Tokyo," She said.

"Japan?" I said. "What about Vietnam?"

"I'll go get the doctor."

A few minutes later a man in bloody scrubs pulled up a chair beside me.

"Alright Mr. Miller," he said. "I have some good news and some bad news," his expression became grim.

"What is it?" I became scared.

"You were shot twice. Luckily one of them just missed your heart. Unfortunately, the other hit your lower spine. I'm sorry Mr. Miller, You are paralyzed from the waist down."

I stared ahead in disbelief, I tried to move my legs, but nothing happened.

"As soon as you are well enough, you will be shipped back stateside," the doctor said.

…

I remember the night before the battle. We were all talking. We all made a promise, a stupid one, but still a promise.

"Hey, let's make a promise," Peter said.

"To do what?" Allen asked.

"Let's promise to get home safe."

"That's a stupid promise, this is 'nam, nobody's safe."

"Mom already got one letter, I don't want her to get any more."

"He's right," I chimed in. "It's not a stupid promise."

That was the last conversation we ever had together. I guess it was a stupid promise.

Something happened while we were in Vietnam. I left something behind. I don't know what it was, but there was something missing. Something I'll never get back. It may have been my identity. I went in as Andrew Miller, 19 years old. I no longer know the person who came out.

War was beautiful. It had great power. War could bring out the best in people. It brought out that subconscious connection that only families had. At the same time, war was terrible. It could kill the strongest of men. It could destroy the strongest of bonds. It was all a matter of will I guess.

What are we fighting for? It's something I'd ask myself every day while we were out in the jungle. I'd tell myself that it wasn't for freedom, the flag, anybody back home, it wasn't any of those things. We were fighting for the men beside us in battle, our brothers-in-arms. After each battle, when we'd lay out the dead, I'd thank each and every one of them for giving their lives so that I could live and continue to fight and protect those around me. Guess I failed.

For some reason I was allowed to live. Everybody around me fell, all except for me. To this day I don't know why. I've told you our story, their sacrifice. Their memory won't die with me. And when I get to heaven, to St. Peter I will tell; Corporal Andrew Miller reporting for duty, sir. I've served my time in hell.

**END**


End file.
